


Poetry (Actions Speak Louder)

by noexiiistence



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Trans!Haurchefant, no real timeline attachment, sensual hand kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24081037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noexiiistence/pseuds/noexiiistence
Summary: Stephanivien's hands were at the heart of all that he was. It's no wonder, then, that Haurchefant loves them.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Stephanivien de Haillenarte
Kudos: 7





	Poetry (Actions Speak Louder)

Haurchefant’s certain that there was a point in time when Stephanivien’s hands were soft. When they were children, perhaps, before he had found the manufactory. But, even then, between pranks and pulling down any clock in his reach in the manor and taking it apart, Haurchefant remembers calluses when Stephanivien took his hand. Remembers scabs and busted knuckles from scraps and fights he often lost without Haurchefant’s backup- often even with Aurvael’s help. He remembers the first punch Stephanivien ever threw for _him_ and remembers kissing his bleeding knuckles, remembers the smile despite his split lip as one dirty and bleeding hand wiped tears from his face. And maybe that’s where it started, maybe that was when he realized just how significant Stephanivien’s _hands_ were to his entire being.

Maybe that’s what has lead them to here, now, Haurchefant carefully pulling Stephanivien’s gloves off his hands, feels the affectionate and amused gaze from just beyond as he gently presses one of Stephanivien’s freed hands to his face and lets out a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed. Both hands bare now, he holds them against either cheek and simply breathes there for a minute.

This was poetry, he always thought, face flushed already. For all he was mediocre at best at penning his own verse, he knew this was what poetry was, why else, then, would it make him feel the way poetry always had? Why did this feel more intimate, more like setting his soul on display? Why else did he feel like this _here_ was when he truly knew Stephanivien’s heart? What was this if not a poem Stephanivien could understand- unlike the many and numerous he’d read aloud to him through the years.

Of his own volition, Stephanivien drags one of his thumbs across Haurchefant’s lower lip and he almost moans, lips parting. The outer edge of both Stephanivien’s thumbs were calloused from work, and Haurchefant kisses the webbing where the thumb connects to the palm where he knows there’s still a small scar from childhood. He no longer remembers the origins of every mark on Stephanivien’s hands- indeed he was no longer _around_ for most of them, and Stephanivien was ever so careful about workplace safety.

Haurchefant turns his face into Stephanivien’s right hand and it smells like sweat and engine grease and he knows for anyone else that wouldn’t be pleasant, but this was _Stephanivien_ . Haurchefant had long since come to love the smell of work on his lover. He never seemed _right_ if he did not smell of firesand or grease. This was the man he loved, after all, he preferred to see him surrounded in what _he_ loved.

Haurchefant trails kisses down Stephanivien’s palm, making sure to kiss the long scar across his thumb muscle- some minor workplace accident he hadn’t the time to put his gloves back on to protect an employee from he had said when it was fresh. From there he kisses up the thumb before pulling the tip of it between his teeth, gently grazing against the callous before letting it loose and moving to kissing down the index finger, making his way across Stephanivien’s fingers in the same manner before making his way down the other side of his palm, all the while Stephanivien’s free hand trails through his hair gently, allowing his enraptured worship.

He’s breathless already, when, once done with the first hand, it slides to the back of his neck as Stephanivien pulls him into a kiss. It’s tender, for all Haurchefant brings a distantly hungry element to it. He feels the smile that curves Stephanivien’s lips against his as the kiss breaks before being followed quickly by a shorter kiss and an unspoken offering of his other hand.

Gladly, Haurchefant takes the offer and quickly loses himself in giving it the same treatment as the last.

He truly does not know where his infatuation with his lover’s hands comes from. They are the core of Stephanivien’s being, the very definition of everything he does- he speaks with his hands, he works with his hands. It was in a grasped hand that Stephanivien had first touched him as children, his hands that wiped the tears from Haurchefant’s eyes. Perhaps it was only natural, after a lifetime of following Stephanivien’s lead by watching his hands- watching clocks quickly become nothing more than a mess of gears when all Stephanivien had was a screwdriver and determination, watching deft hands pulling this apart or that together for pranks, watching him throw the first punch again and again as his temper flared hot.

Haurchefant’s own hands were much the same, he knew, calloused from years with a sword and shield, scars and cuts from the same pranks as Stephanivien’s, marks from trying to cut out splinters from wooden swords before he started wearing gloves for his practices. However, he was far more concerned about the state of his hands than Stephanivien ever seemed to be. Perhaps Stephanivien knew that no matter their state, a gentle touch was still gentle. He never worried that Haurchefant would break in his hands, whereas Haurchefant often worried about things slipping from his grasp as a child.

Kissing a fading scar on the back of Stephanivien’s hand, now, Haurchefant remembers the first time he lost himself like this. Remembers Stephanivien had been speaking about _something_ but he could not pay attention for the hands weaving through the air as his friend spoke. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from taking one of said hands and pressing his lips to it. To this day, it remained a learned behavior to be able to listen while distracted and Stephanivien had learned to tell when he was getting distracted. Knowledge that was just as often used against him when Stephanivien wanted his affections.

At last, every spare ilm of Stephanivien’s hands are kissed and Haurchefant’s eyes hooded, Stephanivien pulls him into another kiss, this one more heated, the hunger of one awakening that in the other and Haurchefant shivers as one of Stephanivien’s hands trails down his back while the other tangles in his hair. Haurchefant’s own, still gloved, hands clutch the back of Stephanivien’s shirt, pressing close as he can, drinking in Stephanivien’s love and affection.

Haurchefant knew, of course, that this infatuation of his was only one his lover shared because _he_ loved it so. Knew that as well as he knew that Stephanivien was not often a patient man, only able to be made so by the promise of a reward worthwhile. As such, Haurchefant imagined the kisses he gave after prolonged worship of Stephanivien’s hands reward enough for he rarely had to request stillness for it anymore.

When the kiss finally breaks, they’re both breathless and smiling and Haurchefant tips his head forward, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you, my sun,” he whispers, almost more breath than words.

“I know.” Stephanivien trails a hand down Haurchefant cheek, earning a small moan to which he grins. “I love you too.”


End file.
